


Question and Answer

by thegreatwordologist



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bit of drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:23:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19291942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/thegreatwordologist
Summary: A conversation after the Ritz





	Question and Answer

**Author's Note:**

> It feels so good to have finally written something. It's not much, but I hope you enjoy it.

The Ritz had been several hours (and at least one wine bottle) ago. Aziraphale and Crowley were back in the apartment above the bookshop, but the more Crowley watched Aziraphale, the less he recognized the angel. At the moment, Aziraphale was draped across his over-stuffed sofa, bow-tie askew and the top button of his shirt undone. He didn't notice the shoe dangling half-off his foot, far too focused on whatever thought chased its way 'round his mind. "The problem with ineffaly... infability... with not writing things down is people don't understand the rules," he slurred at Crowley finally, dropping his eyes away from the ceiling to stare at the demon solemnly. "What you did... maybe it 'uz part?" 

Crowley sighed, glancing at the bottle he'd barely touched before setting it aside and shrugging. "Who knows? It's not like God's really going to tell us anything. Maybe it's just not really ready yet," he muttered, slipping past piles of books fluidly. He needed to move, needed to slither around before he did something they might both regret. Aziraphale was looking entirely too lax and comfortable, and Crowley's fingers itched with the traitorous desire to touch those golden curls. 

That feeling was forbidden. Most of his feelings about Aziraphale were forbidden, really, but usually because Az was the Opposition. Hard to justify a memo to Head Office that mentioned any sort of actual... fraternizing. It took too much work to explain to them that Aziraphale wasn't like the other angels: not as stern, not as rigid. Not as dismissive.

It was hard to explain anything to do with the blessed angel, come to think of it.

"No, not last week," Aziraphale tried to shake his head. Instead he rolled it against the cushions in a fluid motion that set Crowley's teeth on edge. His eyes were half-shut, and Crowley suspected that if he reached out, Aziraphale wouldn't shy away from touching him. "Before. Way, way, way before. All before. Before everything." A thought hit Aziraphale and he started to sit up, stopping halfway as a groan escaped him. 

"Room spinning, angel?" Crowley smirked.

"Did it hurt?" The question was nonsensical, but Crowley flinched anyway. Aziraphale still slurred, but whatever idea was rattling around his skull was sharp enough that he'd almost barked the question. 

"What?" Crowley growled back, glaring at the angel. "When I fell from Heaven?" The words twisted in his mouth, snakelike and snarky, and Crowley didn't bother to try to hide the sarcasm, because Aziraphale had never caught it before. Aziraphale was too serious for all that. Still, _that line_ from the angel's lips? He knew that wasn't what Aziraphale was actually asking, but all the same...

"Yes," Aziraphale answered solemnly. "Exactly. Did it?" And there they were: four earnest words that froze Crowley's soul. Crowley stilled from his prowling, every muscle in his body suddenly tensed as he stared at the wall ahead. He couldn't look back at Aziraphale. Not then. Not after the not-a-joke question. Crowley swallowed, trying to think past sudden panic.

If he were honest, Crowley didn't fully remember. He hadn't let himself think of that moment, that million-light-year dive, for thousands of years. But the memory was always there in the back of his mind, lurking in the shadowed recesses of buried thought and banished questions. "...Yesss," he gritted out, the syllable sibilant in his distress. "Why?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered. On Aziraphale's lips, his name was barely more than a ragged breath, rough as desert sand. Crowley's hand clenched at his side. Somehow, boiling sulphur didn't hurt nearly as badly as that sound scraping against his brain. "Sit with me?"

It took almost a minute for Crowley to turn, dropping bonelessly down into the corner of the sofa opposite Az. Without comment, Aziraphale shifted, wrapping a hand around Crowley's arm and tugging him close, until the demon was nestled against an angelic chest. "Why, angel?" Crowley pressed again, face turned into the soft linen of Az's shirt.

"I don't like the idea of you hurting, my dear," Aziraphale murmured, relaxing slowly as Crowley stayed where he was. "We still don't know if any of this wasn't supposed to happen." He swallowed mournfully. "I should've realized that She was testing us to breaking, too, shouldn't I?" Soft, manicured hands carded through Crowley's hair. "I should have at least asked."

"No," Crowley countered. "Questions landed me here in the first place."

"It's okay, love," Aziraphale whispered softly. "When you're ready, I'll ask." He paused, then smiled gently as he reached down to lift Crowley's face to his. "They're not a danger anymore. We're on our own side, after all." Crowley stared at the angel for a long minute, the words knocking around his skull like miniature grenades in a pinball machine.

"...I'll let you know when I'm ready," he finally nodded, pushing himself up enough to rest a kiss to Aziraphale's forehead. "I'll answer anything you want to ask." Aziraphale sank back against the cushions again, and Crowley followed him down, stretched out against the angel in a sort of full-body hug that he rather wished they had discovered centuries ago. He'd expected some sort of twinge at the promise, or at least at the thought of Aziraphale going through the pain Crowley had. But in this moment, tucked against the only one to truly accept him as warmth flooded his senses, all Crowley really felt was peace far past his understanding. And in that moment, cuddled against the angel who had stood with him at the End of Everything, without Hell breathing down his neck for the first time in... well... forever...

Crowley smiled.


End file.
